


River

by Haunted_Moonlight, Vilteofhope



Series: Rain [7]
Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Darkiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Also contains some triggers so read at your own risk, Basically an origin story for the demons we all know and love, But everything is awful, Dark is a jackass, Historic fiction, Like abusive relationships, M/M, Some of this history might be a bit controversial so beware, Yes it is Danti, does not follow WKM cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Moonlight/pseuds/Haunted_Moonlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilteofhope/pseuds/Vilteofhope
Summary: Before slit throats and dark Valentine dates, before they wore the faces of others as deranged demons, they were once human. Not everything is quite as they seem, and the pathway to hell is paved with hopes and dreams as it leads through 1914 Dublin. Walk this path but trust no one as you see what you will see... Part 4 to the Rain Series!





	River

**_September 1914 - Dublin, Ireland_ **

“What’s Brooklyn like?”

Dark raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the sudden question. In spite of his evasions and commands to never ask questions, it wasn’t perfect. The Irishman was curious to a fault, clever too. Not _book smart_ , granted, but street smart most certainly.

Questions of America could be answered vaguely though. No real harm in it.

“Busy,” Dark replied as the two headed down the Dublin street, walking along the Liffey. “Dangerous. Turbulent. I don’t recommend ever going there.”

Anti stared at him for a moment before he scoffed. “I don’t think that’s really an issue,” he replied somewhat sullenly, eyeing the American. “Even if I wasn’t indentured to you, it’s not like I’d ever have the means or the funds to get there.” He paused. “What _does_ happen to me when you head back?”

His question was met with silence before Dark met the question with one of his own. “Do you really wish to go to America?”

Anti tilted his head at Dark, then grinned a bit. “Always. America is supposed to be the land of opportunity! They make moving pictures there and they have Broadway...and they have more jobs there!”

“Opportunity?” Dark sneered. “Your ‘opportunity’ at best would be no different from your opportunity here: factory work. If you’re _lucky_.”

Anti’s grin immediately fell, a frown furrowing on his brows. “I don’t want to do factory work. I _have_ before and I hate it.”

“Is that why you were an urchin?”

Anti swallowed before shaking his head. “Job security was difficult by default here. It’s become infinitely harder with Larkin’s interference and the lockouts that followed in result. Even though said lockouts ended just a few months ago, many people are still struggling in the aftermath. Companies around here don't trust or hire as easily anymore, nor do they keep people around as consistently as they used to. Just about the only place a man can put a little bit of faith into keeping his job is the Guinness Brewery, and as such every soul in Dublin still looking to work has applied there.” His tone turned bitter as he added, “Even if I wanted to work there, this limp would likely remove me from consideration immediately.”

Dark absently reached out to grab Anti’s arm, moving to tug him from the edge of the river he’d drifted uncomfortably close to. A short wall alongside it was being repaired or built or some such nonsense, and as such there wasn’t much guard to keep people out of the river.

“And you think the entertainment industry would be more welcoming?” Dark questioned, giving him a skeptical look. Anti made a face.

“I still have my voice,” Anti defended.

“Because you’re a singer. Right. I still have yet to hear _that_.”

Anti tilted his head to look up at Dark, flushing a bit. “My voice has been shot from pneumonia.”

“It’s sounded much better recently.”

“I-” Anti looked around self-consciously before looking back up at Dark, the pink in his cheeks and on the back of his neck darkening further. “You want me to sing _here?_ ” At the smirk on the American’s lips, the Irishman swallowed and shook his head. “No-”

“I knew you were full of shit,” Dark remarked triumphantly.

“It _isn’t_ , my voice just hasn’t fully recovered-”

“You had four weeks. _More_ than four weeks.”

“Dark, no-”

“You couldn’t perform even if given the opportunity-” Dark’s words were suddenly cut off by a lilting voice, stronger than he would’ve imagined had he believed the younger man, and slightly deeper-not by much, but enough to catch him by surprise-with a light, gentle touch.

“ _With just a glance, I watch the past pass us by~ But I wander down this road with you~ Until you slip away~”_ The Irishman drew in another breath and licked his lips, his voice becoming somewhat more steady and confident. _“The words hanging on your lips, the look within your eyes~ You don’t have to say those words because I know...know you’ll just say goodbye~”_

A crooner.

A fucking crooner, it was easily the _last_ thing Dark expected from the Irishman.

And he was _good_ , he was actually _good_. All the poking and prodding and antagonizing had come with the hopes of inciting some humiliation, of shattering this foolish dream of his and convince him to abandon it. To break him down…

But _dammit_ he was actually _good_.

After a moment he realized that he was staring and cleared his throat, shaking his head. “It’s not the best I’ve heard. I certainly don’t think it’d be enough to land you a gig in America,” he finally interrupted. That was a lie, but he couldn’t help but feel a small spark of victory at the crushed look on the Irishman’s face. Then again, crush the Irishman’s confidence too much and he wouldn’t get to hear the man’s voice either. Now the initial desire to quash the man’s dream completely had become a selfish desire of keeping that voice for himself. “But I suppose it helped in getting a few extra pity pennies in your cup while you were on the street.” He paused before adding, “If you wish to practice at home, I suppose I won’t mind it. I can _tolerate_.”

Anti stared for a moment before lowering his head slightly, and in the movement missed the sight of the few passersby staring in interest. His face was now clearly burning with embarrassment. “Alright,” he mumbled. Glancing up to see those red eyes burning holes into him again, he tensed before adding, “ _Thank you,_ Dark.”

Dark couldn’t help the smirk that slipped across his lips at his small victory, absently reaching over to pull Anti from the edge he’d drifted towards again.

“Quit walking towards the edge-” he murmured as he tugged the smaller man close and giving a small squeeze of warning before releasing.

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to trying to walk straight on this leg,” Anti muttered, a frown crossing his features.

“Then get used to it faster,” Dark countered, feeling a flare in his temper for the excuse, unable to keep a tiny bit of growl out of his voice. “Pay better attention, Ashanti.”

The Irishman winced slightly at the full name, features more than a little unhappy now.

“When are you returning back to America?” he asked softly.

“Looking to get rid of me already?” Dark sneered, but then shook his head, looking around. “When my business here is complete. At the current time, I’m not entirely sure when that will be.”

Anti tilted his head to look up at him, deciding to press again. “And what will happen to me?”

Dark fell silent again before replying, “I suppose you will return to living on the streets with no one.” He didn’t miss the way the other man tensed and let his eyes drop back down to the ground, how his breath seemed to catch in dread. “You’ll have to find some other way to pay off your debt at that point-”

“ _But I can’t get a job-_ ”

“Then you will pay it off in the pennies from your cup. Charitable people are suckers for cripples anyway,” Dark shot back. He then shook his head and straightened his tie, now clearly agitated. “We’ll manage to arrange something. I’ll think on it.”

Anti swallowed and nodded, keeping his eyes towards the ground but now also his arms wrapped around himself. He didn’t see the man rushing down the street towards them and past them, carelessly coming between him and Dark and giving him a shove aside until it was too late.

While the momentum pushed Dark a few steps towards the street, Anti was thrown completely off balance, staggering in the opposite direction until his foot hit air. He suddenly plunged sideways, toppling into the river with a cry. Dark’s eyes widened as he heard a splash, quickly moving to the riverside to peer down, searching the surface of the water for a moment with more anxiety than he preferred to admit. When he saw a hand frantically reach up and grasp at nothing, he took it as a good sign and immediately turned to walk a bit upstream, ignoring the panicked shouts and cries from the man in the river below.

It didn’t take long for him to catch the careless man, reaching out to tightly grasp his shoulder, roughly spinning the man around as his red eyes burned like the windows to _hell_ and his lip curled up in fury. With a better look at the man, it was safe to assume from clothes and well-nourished physique that it was likely a businessman, decently upper-middle class if not higher with wispy white hair that was brushed tidily back. The hand that whirled the man around quickly shot out now to grip the man’s thick throat, fingers digging deep and painfully into flesh as fingernails drew blood. “You should take better care to mind what’s in front of you, old man,” he snarled, directing the businessman backwards with surprising strength to the edge of the river. “So you don’t damage things that are **_mine_ ** _._ ”

Leaning forward as the businessman thrashed uselessly and struggled to breathe, Dark added dangerously, “Smooth hands, nose up, eyes fixated too high to even notice those below you-I imagine you've never even worked a day in your life, hm? At least, not in any business that would put you shoulder-to-shoulder with the common folk. Nothing that would ever require such unstained hands to become dirty." Dark's upper lip curled in disgust. "You _reek_ of old money. Let's see how much monetary muscles help you with swimming in the Liffey.” Pulling back, he studied the man for a few moments more-almost thoughtfully-before drawing back his fist and throwing one punch, two punches, then finally a third. Eyeing the blood that was trickling out of the man’s nose and his split lip, he then lifted his foot in one final attack and brought it down on the man’s knee, feeling it give and a sickening (satisfying) _crunch_ meet his ears, quickly accompanied by the older man’s screams. A dark grin crossed the American’s face. “Ah, I knew I was missing _something_ from my life. It’s been too long since I heard _that_ sound since arriving in this godforsaken country.”

Looking back up at the man’s face, he added, “Enjoy your one-legged swim.”

Giving the man a rough shove backwards, he released the man’s throat and let gravity do the rest of the work, hearing a satisfying splash as the water rippled in the man’s wake. He then turned, quickly moving to head back downstream with eyes intently on the river’s surface as he searched for his companion. His pace quickened a bit more when it was met with nothing but calm, eyes narrowing as he continued. It was a couple minutes more-the current must’ve been stronger than he’d anticipated-before he found the flailing young Irishman and quickly moved to hurry down a small, narrow flight of stairs and onto a slick concrete platform. He waited a few moments for the man to pass by, desperately flailing and begging for help. He nearly allowed him to slip past, as if debating if it was worth his time and effort. But then he reached out and seized him by the arm, dragging him over and up out of the river without much spared grace about it. The Irishman was shivering, panting and choking and sputtering, eyes wide and wild with arms wrapped around himself. Closer observation showed he’d somehow already lost one of those treasured shoes of his.

“Thank you-” he began, but his words were met with a glare.

“ _What did I tell you about walking too close to the river?_ ”

The younger man drew in on himself a bit, flinching. “Sorry. I really did try not to,” he replied.

Dark continued to glare at him for just a moment before swiftly turning and moving to head back up the stairs, not even offering a hand to help him up. He could feel the Irishman’s face drop, hear him slowly staggering to his feet and hurry after him.

“Dark?” Anti called after him, struggling to catch up with his swift pace. His already limping lag was slowed further by his single-shoed foot, by the soaked clothes that weighed him down and dripped along with his hair, giving him almost the look of a wet cat. “Dark!”

The American pretended not to hear, not slowing, not even sparing a glance back. It wasn’t until he heard the younger man’s tone shift more to pleading, needy even.

_“Dark, please!”_

Dark’s pace slowed to a pause, waiting for the Irishman to catch up with him before snaking an arm around his slender shoulders and pulling him close in a tight, possessive, almost painful grip. Fingers dug into the other’s arm and drew a small, unacknowledged wince from the man while reddish-brown eyes emanated warning to any and all who surrounded them. As he started moving again, his pace lacked forgiveness, but as the Irishman followed with slight stumbles here and there, the latter seemed content enough just to be there and have his attention-or at least his acknowledgement.

Good. He was learning.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so in this bit of history, this particular chapter mentions the Dublin Lockouts. The Lockout was a consequence of Ireland's overall economy being generally pretty awful at the time, and wages were driven to an extreme low while many others couldn't even so much as get work to begin with. Many people decided to try and strike in order to protest these low wages and terrible working conditions, but as a result, many business and factory owners shut their doors and locked out the protesters. These owners won out in the end, with a result of civilian arrest, injury and even a few casualties thanks to strike breakers who would come and try to break up the protests. A number of former workers were also blacklisted from many companies due to their involvement in the protests, and a consequential feeling of mistrust hung in the air between employer and employee in the aftermath. But so anyway, yeah, gonna try and write this without bias as best I can, just remember the perspective of the characters. And thanks so much for all the support so far, it really goes a long way. If you want to see more to this story collection as I scramble to get out the next update, check out some of the stuff from Vilteofhope! She's writing Dark's side of this story and things get pretty intense real fast. But anyway! If you liked the chapter, drop a kudo, drop a comment, and I'll be seeing you all in the next one. Until then!


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